


St. Patrick

by AvengedInk



Series: Pvris [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:58:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvengedInk/pseuds/AvengedInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know you're gone now, but I still wait for you</p><p>Or</p><p>Clexa one-shot based off the song 'St. Patrick' by Pvris</p>
            </blockquote>





	St. Patrick

Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at Lexa, or the little half-smirk she pulled, or how she bit her bottom lip when she concentrated too hard. 

It could've been because she spoke so animatedly, all the time, even about trivial things like how the barista spelled her name Clark like Clark Kent and how she hated that comparison. 

Or how the sultry, low tones of her voice sent shivers down Lexa's spine in the best way imaginable. The column of her throat and the dip in her collar bone. Smooth, creamy shoulders and long legs. 

But it was eventually admitted that what drew Lexa to the blonde was probably the little bit of everything in Clarke Griffin. 

*

Lexa took the stairs in great strides, not bothering with the railing and not hesitating on the last one like she usually did. She couldn't remember if she'd locked the deadbolt but it wasn't as if she owned anything irreplaceable, and God, was she late. 

Today there was no time for the 15-minute walk to her law firm, no time to admire the early-morning bustle of New York City and no time to stop of at the Ark Cafe, even though she had been doing so every day for the past few weeks to buy something for Clarke. 

Shit.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck shit. 

She couldn't go into the office like this. Not if a certain architect was there. She'd foregone her usual pantsuit in favor of throwing on a pair of dark blue jeans and an off-white blouse. And maybe the clothes hugged her curves in just the way she liked, but it was far too unprofessional, and God damnit why hadn't she woken up on time? 

Lexa was able to hail a taxi in what had to be record time, fixing the cabbie with her intimidating glare and pulling out and extra $20 as incentive to drive faster. Her fingers thrummed nervously on her thighs. 

She was out of the vehicle before it had the chance to pull up on the curb, and she didn't bother throwing a thank-you over her shoulder. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she neared the glass doors of her pride and joy. 

Woods Law. It was growing in popularity. Lexa had founded it because of the encouragement she'd gotten from her father, who had always pushed her to exceed. Her sister Anya claimed a spot in the project early-on, and the two worked closely together to run it. 

Lexa had always been rather reserved, not because she was shy but because it was easier to keep to herself. It was just in her nature. The only person she felt comfortable enough calling her friend was Lincoln, whom she'd grown with, and her track record with relationships was just as bad. There had been one, in highschool, a long time ago. She preferred not to think of it. 

She was expanding her building, and like all things in her life, she wanted perfection. The reason for the call to one of the city's most reputable artichects, Ms. Clarke Griffin.

It was terrifying how quickly the blonde had managed a hold on Lexa's heart. From the first day when her grin had lit up the entire room, to today, with her long blonde hair pulled up in a lazy bun and her hands stained grey from her furious sketching. 

There was an instant "Good morning, Ms. Woods!" that went right over Lexa's head as her eyes connected with Clarke's from across the entryway. Growing up in the city, the brunette had never seen much of the ocean, or a sky clear of smog, but the architect's eyes held just that shade of blue and something more that couldn't be put into words. 

"Lexa!" 

Clarke was never not on a first-name basis. 

The blonde paused in her work and shuffled to meet Lexa halfway. 

"What, no coffee today?" She teased, eyes appraising Lexa's form, a smirk on her lips. 

The lawyer immediately flushed, and it took her a moment to formulate a response. 

"I woke up a bit late. How is the construction coming along?" Her voice sounded strained to her own ears, and Clarke rolled her eyes. It was just like Lexa to get right down to business. 

"Should be wrapped up in the next couple days. I better get back to it. But, hey, nice jeans." With that, she strode away, throwing a wink over her shoulder that stained Lexa's cheeks an even deeper red.

She took a moment to collect herself before taking an elevator to her office, part-confused, flustered, angry, perhaps a combination of all. For a big-shot lawyer who was known for a tough skin, Clarke Griffin could very easily get under it. 

*

It was Friday. Not a Friday, but the Friday. The expansion of her firm was due to be finished before work hours were over, and a small celebration was scheduled that evening accordingly. Anya had paid for the caterers and the food and emailed the invitations before Lexa had a chance to object, her aversion based solely on how she couldn't imagine resisting Clarke Griffin in a dress. 

Her leather chair was somewhat uncomfortable, but the clock on her wall seemed to rotate inhumanly fast. She was distracted, but worked dutifully on her computer nonetheless. One case file after another, and suddenly it was time to leave. 

The ding of the elevator as she reached the bottom floor. It was dark in the lobby, and Lexa fully expected to be the last person out the building, but was pleasantly surprised to see a certain blonde clearing up supplies in the corner.

"I'll see you tonight, Lexa." Clarke said, without looking up.

Tonight? 

Oh. 

Damnit, Anya. 

Lexa nodded before realizing that Clarke still wasn't looking, and choked out a "Yes" before nearly running out the door. 

The walk back to her apartment was cold, and thoughts swirled in Lexa's brain, the question of what she was going to wear bothering her more than necessary. 

It wasn't as if she was trying to impress anybody. 

(She was). 

*

Voices blurred together so much that Lexa could hardly keep a conversation. The event was feeding her headache, and her desire to leave was almost overwhelming, but when she'd made for the exit Anya had sent her a withering glare that forced her back into the corner she currently resided in. 

She felt very small. Countless formalities had been exchanged with executives, and the taste of "Good evening" numbed her lips. Sure, she was beautiful. Or so she'd been told. Her hair carefully styled so that it fell in waves past her shoulders, intricate braids adorning the sides. Her eyeliner perfectly winged and her lipstick a flattering shade of red. She had decided upon a curve-accentuating short black dress, but any attention she garnered for it was easy to brush off.

The cacophony of laughter and conversation seemed to die down to a cautious hum as a blonde in a gorgeous green dress entered. Lexa could almost see the fucking halo above her head, and an unexpected wave of bitterness washed over the lawyer. She wasn't anything if not controlled, and Clarke Griffin took away all semblance of control. 

Trying to look away was impossible, so Lexa quietly slipped away to the restroom instead. She could hide in here until an acceptable time to leave. Anya may chide her later, but it would go unnoticed for the most part. 

Her fingers curled over the edge of a sink, and large, green eyes were reflected back at her. Fierce, but frightened. 

Lexa almost missed the soft click of the door being closed again, and she'd barely turned around before her back was shoved roughly into the counter, one hand on her waist and the other at the back of her neck. 

There was a flash of blonde curls and sharp blue eyes shocked her own, the scent of the architect's perfume asphyxiating her, before warm lips met her own and reality fell away. 

She couldn't remember placing them there, but her arms were suddenly around Clarke's neck and she was kissing back with reverance. 

It was passionate. Almost violent as their tongues clashed in battle, teeth nipping at lips before the bite was soothed by another kiss. But it was soft, too, in the way that their bodies melded together and fit so well. 

There was a gasp in the back of her throat as Clarke's leg came between her own, pressing insistently into her center. A pooling warmth gathered there, almost aching. Clarke swallowed another whimper. 

Perhaps in another world where Lexa Woods was less in love with Clarke Griffin, she would've tangled her hands at the back of the blonde's head. She would've desperately searched for friction to sate her growing desire. She would've growled, "Come back to my place," as more of a demand than a request in the way that a Commander would. 

But this wasn't that world, and before Lexa knew it her arms weren't around Clarke's neck anymore and her palms were cupping the girl's face. The fire behind the kiss had died to an ember, just smoldering, as Lexa carefully pulled back to press soft lips to the blonde's chin instead. 

Her eyes opened to meet cold blue stone. Clarke's were stormy and angry and lust-filled, her pupils blown. There was confusion there, that just as quickly disappeared. And then maybe a bit of an apology as she detached herself from Lexa. 

Lexa's mouth opened to say something but no words came out. She wanted to say:  
You're a fucking miracle, Clarke Griffin. You mess me up in so many ways but it's good, God, so much better than the shit in my head. I want this to be more than sex. It can't be just physical for me. You're beautiful, the way you live your life is beautiful, please don't leave me. 

The silence lengthened. 

Clarke shook her head, maybe to clear it. A frown was in place now, marring her features. There was a troubled look cast about her face and the angry storm in her eyes hadn't ceased. 

"Lexa." She breathed out. It ignited some hope that was quickly extinguished the second after with, "I don't do this kind of thing. The feelings." 

Another shake of her head. 

"Sorry," Clarke whispered, and Lexa's throat was closing up and her eyes were watering and burning. 

She wanted to say:  
I don't, either. Do feelings. Not until you. 

But the air was heavy and the atmosphere was all wrong and in that moment, there was no one there to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> I will possibly write more Pvris-based one-shots. I apologize if I just brutally stabbed your little shipper hearts. x


End file.
